


Silent Whispers, Silent Tears

by etoilecourageuse



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Despair, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicide, Summoning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 15:04:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5132000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etoilecourageuse/pseuds/etoilecourageuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No magic is capable of reviving the dead, but when Andromeda loses everything in the war, she will not rest until she has brought back those she loves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silent Whispers, Silent Tears

It felt as though she were suffocating. It felt as though she were drowning, as though she had been pushed so violently into an ocean of pure grief, despair, confusion. It felt as though she had been deprived of her mind, her senses, as though nothing were to remain of her but agony, as though… It felt as though she were trapped in a nightmare, as though she were sleeping and never capable of awakening, as though she were dreaming. If only it were a dream… If only it were a nightmare… But no. 

An owl. An owl had delivered the message as though it had no meaning, as though it were nothing, nothing at all. An owl had delivered the message as no one would dare to look into her eyes in such moments of torment. An owl… How dare they… How dare they! 

Nausea had overwhelmed Andromeda as she had fully taken in the words written so carelessly upon the parchment, had forced her to her knees and nearly caused her to vomit, had taken her breath away as though the merest touch had poisoned her from the inside. An owl… An owl, after everything she had done, everything she had risked and sacrificed… An owl! How dare they…? Did she mean nothing to them, nothing at all? How could this world she had chosen to spend her life in be any better than the one she had left behind, if… An owl. Anger had kept her from processing the meaning at first, had caused her to scream, to release wordless cries of frustration that then turned into despair, nothing but pure despair as she began to realise, so slowly and yet so painfully. 

Lost. She had lost them, had lost them all, her daughter, her son-in-law, her… Hadn’t she been hurt so beyond belief once before, hadn’t she been made a widow mere months, _weeks_ , ago, hadn’t she already lost Ted, her sweet Ted whom she had adored so much more than words, and hadn’t they denied her the chance to see him once more, to bid him farewell, not allowing her to grieve her husband in the way she deserved? And now… Now, Dora… Her daughter, her little girl… Impossible. It seemed impossible, could not possibly be true… It was though it were her mind, too weary to understand the true meaning as her message, as though a Boggart had come to haunt her soul, and to play its cruel games with her. It could not be true, could not possibly be true… 

But no. Of course it was true. Of course her mind had not fooled her… Once more Andromeda screamed, her entire body trembling so beyond her control, sight blurring as the tears began to spill from her eyes. Of course it was true… Gone. They were gone, the war had claimed more victims, had taken more lives, claimed more souls and left behind nothing but destruction, nothing but despair. Gone. Of course it was true… 

Would they keep her daughter’s body from her, too? Would they once more refuse her what was to be her only solace, what she desired so beyond belief? If only she could have been with her… If only she could have been with her, if only she could have seen her, held her! Her girl… Gone. And once more she had not been granted the chance to say good-bye. 

The laughter that had so constantly filled the walls of her home had fallen silent. Andromeda would give everything, _anything_ , to once more look into her daughter’s eyes, to once more feel her husband’s touch upon her, would give anything to pull those she loved back from the abyss of… But no. She was a fool even to consider, a fool to dare to imagine the impossible as though it would come true. As though it would give her comfort, as though it would soothe her despair… No magic was capable of reviving the dead. The Gods would never listen to her desperate pleas, not even if she were in possession of the Resurrection Stone… No magic was capable of reviving the dead. And what would it do to hurt herself so beyond belief by allowing her mind to drift? 

No magic was capable of reviving the dead. And yet… Yet… 

Andromeda felt hysteria rising as she began to realise, as she remembered; she pushed herself up from the ground at last and stumbled to the library, nearly falling once more as the weakness, the dizziness, seemed to overwhelm her, as she could scarcely breathe, her body still shaking with uncontrollable sobs. 

No magic was capable of reviving the dead… But hadn’t Ted always been so fascinated by other kinds of magic, _different_ kinds of magic? Hadn’t he devoured books about those ancient forms she had never dared to look at, never dared to acknowledge, hadn’t he…? 

How foolish, how cruel it was to hope, to hope for a miracle where none could be given. How cruel it was to believe, whether for a minute, whether for a second… How could this magic possibly help her, how could anything possibly help her when they were lost, when Ted and Dora were lost and would never return? She, too, was lost… 

No magic was capable of reviving the dead. But still… Still, Andromeda did not surrender, knew that all her efforts would be in vain yet did not surrender, throwing each book carelessly to the ground after she had taken in its content, her eyes flying over the words yet scarcely processing their meaning. No magic was capable of reviving the dead… Yet why then did she feel such a burning desire within her to attempt everything she would be able to attempt, why then had she begun to close her mind to the truth, why did she allow herself to believe, to truly believe, that there were spells, perhaps potions, to accomplish the impossible? Why? 

It felt as though her heart had ceased to beat as she found it then, as she found _him_. The image alone frightened Andromeda, caused her to hold her breath as she looked into the jackal’s eyes, the image motionless and yet… Yet… Anubis. The God Of Death. 

For a moment she closed her eyes as faint memories returned to her, memories of Ted’s laughter, of the passion within his voice as he spoke of Ancient Egypt and its gods, spinning tales of sacred cats and beetles that Andromeda had found quite hard to believe. She had merely rolled her eyes at him then, but now… Now, these gods were her last hope. Now, she would be willing to believe in anything, anything at all, if only it would bring those back to her that she was incapable of living without. 

Her hands were trembling as she reached into her pocket, fumbling for the dagger she had formed the habit of carrying with her in times of war. Yet she did not wince as she penetrated her skin with the blade, causing blood to billow from the newly inflicted wound nearly immediately, did not wince as she began to chant, quiet words in a language she did not understand, as everything began to spin around her, as so suddenly all life seemed to be drained from her… 

The creature was silent, would not allow her to speak either, as though he knew, as though he knew everything… Andromeda lowered her head, dared not look at him, felt as though she were dreaming… Perhaps she was. Perhaps she was dreaming, perhaps it was not real, perhaps none of it was real… How could she know? How could she know…? 

Dora’s voice… She could hear her daughter’s voice so clearly, could hear her laugh, could hear her calling out her name so close to her. Andromeda nearly screamed as she felt Ted’s hand upon her shoulder, as she turned around and saw him, truly, saw her husband… They were here… They were here, with her… They were here… 

Wearily, scarcely capable of suppressing her tears, she collapsed into Ted’s arms, clung to him as though she were a child, never willing to let go of him, never willing to turn away. How real he felt… Ted… Her Ted… He was here. 

No magic was capable of reviving the dead… 

And yet. Yet… Had she succeeded, after all? Had she truly entered the realm of the dead, had she summoned him, truly? The God Of Death, the creature that frightened her so… Or had she lost her mind at last? Had she succumbed to grief and insanity? Would she awaken mere moments later to find it all to be an illusion? It seemed so real… 

_“Bring them back to me,”_ she wanted to whisper, wanted to sink to her knees before the creature and bid for his mercy, bid for her daughter’s, her husband’s lives and do anything that was asked of her, anything at all… And yet no sound would come from her lips. And yet there was nothing but silence. 

Impossible. It was impossible to bring them back, even for him, even for the God Of Death, who would look down at her relentlessly and not move, as though his heart were made of stone. It was impossible to bring them back. 

Too soon it would be over, too soon she would wake from her delirium and find them gone once more, gone, never to return; too soon she would wake and find herself once again realizing that it had been nothing but a dream that allowed her to be united with those she loved. Too soon she would find her world shattered still. 

No. No! She would not wake, she _could_ not! She would not allow anyone to tear them apart once more, not now, not even him… They were all she had, she would not… 

Ted’s eyes widened with fright as for a moment she released her grip about his body, as though he understood, as though he realised… His eyes implored her to stop, all in silence, his arms reaching out for her in despair, but she was faster than him as the dagger was still within her hands, as she had never let go, pushing the blade into her stomach with full force. She would not allow anyone to tear them apart. 

“Allow me to stay with my family,” she breathed, and at last she looked at him, looked at him who was now to become her only God. At last her voice had returned to her, at last she smiled, smiled as the pain in her stomach began to fade mere moments later, smiled with such blissful relief as she realised that she had succeeded, that she had awoken from her trance-like state after all and yet... Yet they were still here. Yet, _she_ was still here, seeking for her husband’s hand and finding it, nearly laughing as their fingers intertwined, as he so quietly spoke out her name. “My body shall be yours… I shall be yours…” 

No magic was capable of reviving the dead.


End file.
